


Roasted

by robotboy



Series: Butterscotch [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Deaf Character, Deaf James Flint, Disabled Character, Fluff, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-17 06:22:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16089866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotboy/pseuds/robotboy
Summary: ‘Everyone ignores me! I’m a barista!’Of John Silver, useless bisexual, and James Flint, Deaf coffee addict.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for [blacksailskinkmeme #258](https://blacksailskinkmeme.tumblr.com/post/176700725616/deaf-flint-meeting-silver-for-the-first-time-in-a): _Deaf Flint meeting Silver for the first time in a non-cliche way._ I'm deaf and I wanted to give it a shot. So here's my first ever coffeeshop AU _and_ some fluff as sweet as butterscotch syrup.  
>  All the signed language in this series is written in equivalent English grammar, lexicon, and idioms: I'm not an ASL speaker but I use some Auslan. I am deaf, not Deaf: the difference is discussed in the story.  
> [This fic has a moodboard](https://66.media.tumblr.com/0abf1cad4e5eb7f58e97d9c3aa59675a/tumblr_pgmxndMqSG1t0g1j1o1_1280.jpg) and [the series has a pinboard!](https://www.pinterest.com.au/fiertedubearn/butterscotch/)

‘Large triple-shot nonfat latte!’ Eleanor hollers at him.

Silver loads up the machine for three shots.

‘What’s the name?’

‘It’s for the hot guy with the red hair,’ she says.

Silver looks up and sees exactly who she’s described. He’s watching Silver’s hands, and ignores Eleanor’s description, despite the fact that he’s standing right there. Holy shit, he _is_ hot.

The guy watches Silver like a hawk. Silver tries not to take it as an insult. It’s not the most complicated order they get, and Silver’s hardly going to slip him full cream or stiff him a shot.

The moment he has the lid on, the guy is looming, ready to take it from Silver. For want of anything better to say, Silver gets one breath into ‘Large triple—’ before the guy gives him a polite smile, and then he’s out the door.

The next time the hot redhead comes in, Silver is about to start three large soy mochas with three different syrups for _Jack_. Eleanor hollers for the triple-shot and Silver hollers back:

’Name?!’

‘Flint!’ she shouts back.

‘ _Fling?!_ ’ he yelps, squeezing the soy carton for all it’s worth.

Eleanor marches over and scribbles _Flint_ on a cup, thumping it down next to _Vanilla Jack_ and _Hazelnut Jack_ and _Caramel Jack._ There’s a small soy for _Idelle_ after that so he fills the jug, bumping Flint’s to last.

Flint approaches when Silver holds up two of the large cups, lingering even after Silver shouts: ‘ _JACK, CARAMEL AND HAZELNUT!_ ’

Jack bumps by Flint to collect them, and Silver says ‘the vanilla’s coming’ and ‘the triple-shot nonfat will be a moment’ in the same breath. Flint takes a step back, but his eyes keep burning a hole in the back of Silver’s neck. When Silver finally turns with the triple-shot, he gets as far as ‘Sorry for the wai—’ before Flint removes it from his grasp with a nod, then he’s out the door.

The third morning it’s quiet again, but when Eleanor calls for the triple-shot nonfat, he writes _Flint_ and a smiley-face on it anyway. It’s fucking tacky, but _he’s_ fucking tacky.

Flint takes the cup right from his hands. Their fingers brush, and Silver can’t help but read it as deliberate. Flint sees the smiley-face and raises his eyebrows, but before Silver can so much as wish him a good day he’s gone again.

‘Who _is_ he?’ Silver asks Eleanor.

‘James Flint. Comes at six-thirty Tuesdays to Fridays, orders the large triple-shot nonfat and gets it with butterscotch on the Friday,’ she rattles off, with her uncanny ability to remember every detail about everyone she’s ever met.

There’s just one detail she doesn’t mention.


	2. Chapter 2

‘Flint!’

Normally, Silver would like the excuse to start talking.

‘Large triple-shot nonfat latte for _Flint_ ,’ he attempts a second time.

Silver can’t help getting annoyed. Flint is standing _right there_ , but he’s so engrossed in his phone that he hasn’t even noticed Silver bumped his drink to the front of the queue.

The other customers are beginning to look restless.

Silver sighs, crouching a little, and waves his hand near Flint’s phone to get his attention.

Flint startles, meeting Silver’s eyes suddenly. He gives Silver nothing but an apologetic grimace, and scoops the cup off the counter. Silver watches his hunched shoulders all the way out the door, letting the other customers get as restless as they like.


	3. Chapter 3

Eleanor takes alternating Mondays and Wednesdays off. Silver is manning the tills and the machine, but it’s too early yet to be busy. It’s six-thirty, not that he’s been checking.

Like clockwork, Flint comes striding in. Silver smiles—he’s long learned from experience that _good morning_ and even _hello_ are not appreciated by customers who order triple-shot beverages before they’ve _had_ the triple-shot beverages. But a smile, of the warm, just-the-two-of-us variety, usually works its charms.

Flint hesitates when he sees Silver at the counter, eyeing him warily. Silver’s smile falters.

‘The usual?’ he attempts.

Flint gets out his phone, and Silver frowns. Sure, he’s only _almost_ as pretty as Eleanor, but Flint doesn’t have to be outright rude.

Flint types on his phone, then flips it around to show Silver the notes app.

LARGE TRIPLE-SHOT NONFAT LATTE PLEASE

Silver takes a second to register it.

‘Sure, the usual,’ he repeats, rattling off the price as he punches it into the till.

Flint puts cash on the counter, precisely the amount for his drink. He watches expectantly as Silver puts it through, so Silver assures him:

‘I’ll make it now.’

He feels like an idiot, because now he’s just narrating the patently obvious instead of _doing_ it. He gets the three shots brewing, takes out the marker he keeps tucked in his hair and writes on Flint’s cup:

_STRONG SILENT TYPE?_

Flint is watching him again.

‘Not a morning person, are you?’ he yells over the steamer, because he’s an idiot _and_ a masochist.

Flint sighs heavily, and gives him a smile that looks worryingly like pity. Silver looks back at the milk before he burns himself. Maybe a lot of guys try to chat Flint up and he’s not into it. Silver’s usually good at reading the signs, though, and Flint might not be talkative but there have been  _signs_.

When Silver brings the cup over, Flint’s phone is facing towards him again. There’s only one word on the screen.

DEAF

Silver can _feel_ the blood draining from his face. For once he’s grateful Flint’s out of the building before he can open his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: this fic is so unlike me!  
> also me: adds an extra chapter at the eleventh hour and a 'BDSM' tag


	4. Chapter 4

It’s not quite the first thing Silver says as they open on Thursday, but it’s close.

‘ _You never mentioned Flint was deaf!_ ’ he hisses at Eleanor.

She shakes her head in surprise. ’Was I supposed to?’

‘I asked you about him!’

Eleanor shrugs. ‘I thought it was obvious. Why do you think he was ignoring you?’

‘Everyone ignores me! I’m a barista!’

‘Well why’s he any different, then?’

Silver thumps the portafilter a little harder than he needs to. ‘Because he’s _gorgeous_. You could have given me a _clue_.’

‘I didn’t want you to make a thing of it,’ Eleanor says.

‘I wouldn’t _make a thing of it_.’

‘You literally fucking are,’ Eleanor says, and nods at the milk carton contorting in his grip. He uncaps it, and tries to unclench his jaw while he’s at it.

‘He’s a customer, and he just happens to be deaf,’ Eleanor says, and Silver feels the back of his neck go hot.

She’s his boss, so he doesn’t tell her to fuck off. He’s always hated when people say someone _just happens to be_. Like _John_ _just happens to be bi,_ so people can reassure themselves he only dates girls and doesn’t rock the boat. They’re praising how easy it is to forget that he’s different. How much they’d like it not to _matter_.

But maybe he’s just angry for making a fool of himself. He knows he’s got personal attributes he doesn’t want anyone to _make a thing of_. He knows Eleanor is just as bi as he is. But he finds by the time six-thirty rolls around, the stormcloud has lifted, he’s found his marker (he'd wedged it in his bun) and he’s written _HI_ on Flint’s cup. He gets his first genuine smile for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A weird note about the typesetting: Flint is Deaf, but because this is Silver’s point of view, he’s still using a lowercase d out of ignorance. That will change later.


	5. Chapter 5

Silver remembers being taught to sign the alphabet in school once. All he retained was his own name. He practices it to himself on the way to work until it flows smoothly from his hands.

It’s a Friday, so Flint gets a pump of butterscotch.

When he finishes Flint’s coffee, he passes the cup instead of placing it on the counter. Flint’s fingers brush over his again, and Silver makes eye contact. He smiles his brightest smile, and waves. Then he lets Flint take the coffee, pointing at himself and signing as best he can: _J-O-H-N-S-I-L-V-E-R._

Flint gives him a nod when he begins, but by the time Silver’s done he looks taken aback. Silver wonders if he’s accidentally said something inappropriate. Flint puts the coffee down and slips his phone out of his pocket. He types quickly, tilting the screen to make it easier to read and holding it out to Silver:

WHERE ARE YOU FROM

Silver laughs in confusion. Does he have a sign-language accent? He remembers his vowels: A on the thumb… U on the pinkie… and from his own name, S, but _what the fuck is T?_

Flint rescues him, touching his wrist to get his attention. He mouths _Australia?_ , pointing downwards, eyebrow raised.

Silver pauses, fumbles behind his ear for the marker, and writes on a cup: _HOW U TELL?_

Flint types: DIFFERENT ALPHABET

Silver blinks at him, bewildered. Flint makes a face, shifting his weight. Then he looks at Silver before tapping his watch, and with a rueful shake of his head, he leaves.


	6. Chapter 6

Silver has googled it, and found out the Auslan he learned is _completely fucking different_ from American Sign Language, which is mortifying. But Flint seemed to understand it.

He thinks he’ll have half an hour from flipping the OPEN sign to come up with a way of explaining, or apologising, or asking if he knows Auslan, or asking him out. But at five minutes after six, the bell at the door jingles and Flint is there. Silver smiles, probably _too_ brightly this time, and scoots around to the till.

Flint gives him a brief smile back, pulling out his phone. The order is already typed there:

LARGE TRIPLE-SHOT NONFAT LATTE  
TO HAVE HERE PLEASE

Flint’s never ordered to have in before. Silver grabs the biggest mug he can find, and through a series of awkward gestures, conveys that he’ll bring it over if Flint takes a seat.

When he brings the drink to Flint’s table, he notices Flint has pulled out the other chair. Flint gestures toward it, and Silver’s eyebrows must do something very complicated, but Flint nods invitingly, so Silver sits.

Silver opens his mouth. Flint holds up a finger, _wait_. He rummages in his bag, and Silver catches himself staring at Flint’s forearms where he’s rolled back the sleeves of his white button-up. Flint takes out a small box. He slips out what Silver realises are hearing aids, sliding one behind each ear with a practiced motion.

‘Are you _fucking_ kidding me?’ Silver mutters.

Flint tilts his head, touching the back of his ear. He says, in a deep, scratchy voice: ‘Say that again?’

‘You’ve had those the _whole time._ You can _talk_.’

Flint makes a face. ‘If I talk, people talk back. They assume I’ll hear them.’

‘But you can hear me now.’

‘Just about, if you’re slow and clear. It’s usually more effort than it’s worth.’

How can it be easier than _talking?_ Talking has always been Silver’s greatest talent.

‘Your accent…’

Flint sighs, and talks like he’s reciting a script: ‘It’s not a “deaf voice” because I had better hearing as a child. It deteriorated after I learned to speak “properly.”’

The disdain behind the air quotes is palpable.

‘Oh, not that,’ Silver explains. ‘Sorry, what I meant was, is it British?’

‘Yeah,’ Flint says, the air between them warming a few degrees. ‘Expat.’

‘Right,’ Silver says. ‘I’m an expat too. From Australia.’

‘Yeah, I know.’

He knows. It’s literally the only other thing they’ve talked about. Silver needs a triple-shot coffee of his own.

‘How long have you been over?’

‘Ten years. What about you?’

‘Six, on and off. There’s always work for Melbourne-trained baristas.’

Flint nods blithely, and Silver wonders if he spoke too fast.

‘I make good coffee,’ he says, concluding the story in clearer terms.

‘A roast makes good coffee,’ Flint snorts. ‘ _You_ froth milk.’

‘Hey, my frothing abilities got me a green card.’

Flint smirks, and Silver realises much too late that there might have been innuendo there.

‘Well, I have two talents. Talking and frothing.’

‘And you can’t even do both at once. That machine makes a fucking unbearable noise, with these in.’

‘Wait…’ Silver thinks back on what Flint said. ‘Do you mean _I’m_ usually more effort than it’s worth?

‘Yeah,’ Flint answers bluntly. ‘Then _you_ made an effort to sign.’

Oh, Silver thinks. Maybe he’d talk less too if he had to stop and use his hands to say everything.

‘So when do you wear them?’

‘At work. With Hearing friends.’

Silver grins. ‘Am I your Hearing friend?’

Flint grins back, sharklike. ’You’re a piece of work, is what you are.’

Silver doesn’t blush at that. He tries very hard not to.

‘What’s work, for you?’ he sits forward in his seat, closer to Flint.

‘I’m an archivist with the university.’

‘There’s a hundred coffeeshops on campus,’ Silver says, reminding himself to enunciate his words. ‘Why do you come here?’

‘Your frothing abilities,’ Flint answers, quick as a flash.

Fucking hell, Silver thinks. For a man who doesn’t like to talk, he’s sharp at it.

The jingle of the door almost makes him jump out of his chair. ‘Silver! Ubereats order!’ Eleanor barks.

Silver puts his hand on the table apologetically. ‘I have to go.’

‘Here,’ Flint takes a scrap of paper and pen from his bag. ‘My number.’

‘Oh!’ Flint doesn’t respond, because he’s looking down. Silver waits until Flint is looking back at him. ‘But… I can’t call you?’

Flint gives him a dead-eyed stare, but he doesn’t retract the paper. ‘Have you heard about something called _texting.’_

 _Now_ he’s blushing. ‘Oh. Oh my god. I’m… um, I’m going to text you. I’m going to go, and I’m going to die inside, and then I’m going to froth milk, and then I’m going to text you.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some context on the language: being a British migrant to the US, Flint knows both BSL and ASL. BSL has the same alphabet as Auslan, so Flint understood, but clicked that Silver wasn’t taught in America.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's international coffee day! Please celebrate with this new chapter.  
> Sadly ao3 doesn't support emojis, so there's [a much more colourful draft of this chapter on my tumblr.](http://r0b0tb0y.tumblr.com/post/178618175932/bonus-material-the-emoji-ful-draft-of-roasted)

Silver texts Flint during his lunch break. He might be rushing things, but now he’s had one good conversation with Flint, he’s craving another.

 _it’s lucky i’m good at frothing. because you were really good at roasting me_ he writes.

Flint texts back in three minutes.

_It’s how I like my men._ _Well roasted._

_a little bit syrupy?_ Silver grins. He hadn’t expected the puns.

_Don’t forget hot and large._

‘Well, you don’t fuck around, do you?’ Silver murmurs. He’s almost glad Flint doesn’t talk in the shop, if all he does is flirt like this.

_what do you archive?_

_Everything they bring me._ _With a specialty in 18th century colonial documents._

_what time do you finish archiving your 18th century colonial documents?_

_Three. What time do you finish frothing?_

_3:30. the museum is open until 6._ Silver reconsiders. _unless you’re so good at archiving things yourself that you hate the museum or you’ve already been 100 times because that’s your day job_

 _No._ Flint texts, and Silver exhales through his teeth in disappointment, but then: _I haven’t seen the Revolution exhibition yet._

Silver manfully does not punch the air.

_so is there anything i should know about going on a date with a deaf guy?_

_Big D._ Flint texts. Silver almost chokes. Flint continues: _It’s Deaf, not deaf._

 _sorry!_ he replies. Then, _you timed those on purpose_

_Wish I could’ve seen your face._

Silver takes a selfie. He tries not to spend too much time on anything other than his scandalised expression. He only fixes his hair a little bit.

Flint sends him:

 

Silver asks: _should i learn some sign language or anything? the right language this time_

_Not yet, you’ll probably hurt yourself._ _I’ll wear hearing aids again._

Silver‘s stomach flutters a little at ‘not yet. _’_ How far does Flint see this going? He checks: _are you sure?_

 _I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to._ Then: _Just don’t tell everyone I’m oral._

Silver stares at the screen for a moment before replying: _typo?_

_It means I can speak English when I need to._

_of course, i guessed that_ Silver lies.

Flint texts back:

Silver’s not going anywhere near whatever that is.

Flint follows: _I’d be more worried about taking an archivist to a museum._

_well you know they say there’s no such thing as stupid questions_

_I’ve never heard anyone say that._

Silver is halfway through texting _really?_ when Flint sends:

_You’d be amazed at the number of things I haven’t heard._

_oh my god_ Silver texts. _you are like this aren’t you_

_You’ve already asked me out now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow writing about Deaf characters is so easy? I can literally recycle my own jokes from real life


	8. Chapter 8

An archivist in a museum is a surprisingly painless experience. The only difference is that Flint pores over some of the exhibits for a long time. He launches into detailed explanations when Silver comes to stand by him, and while Silver is no history buff, he finds Flint can weave a story far more interesting than the exhibit captions.

A date with a Deaf guy is surprisingly easy. Only twice does Silver have to remember to speak louder than normal in such a quiet space, but there’s no other visitors late on a Tuesday afternoon to be bothered by it. Silver finds he doesn’t care, anyway, when Flint laughs at his jokes.

They end up there until closing time. The museum is only a block from the beach, and the sun is just beginning to set.

‘Do you have plans for dinner?’ Silver asks.

Flint makes a face. ‘I’m not much fun at restaurants.’

‘We could order out?’ Silver offers. ‘Eat on the wharf?’

Flint is considering. It’s an easy out, if he wants to take it. But Silver has an ace up his sleeve.

‘I know a chippy round the corner.’

‘Did you just say a _chippy_?’

‘An actual fish and chip shop. A _good_ one.’

He’d swear Flint’s pupils dilate.

The shop is cheap and cheerful, neon lights and white tiles and grease. But the chips are fat and crunchy, and the fish is always fresh, and Silver gravitates to it when he’s homesick.

It’s also noisy, with the fryers on and a blaring television. He balks for a second, then takes out his phone.

_fisherman’s basket for 2?_

He holds the screen up for Flint to see. Instead of replying on his own phone, Flint leans in, so close Silver can feel Flint’s breath on his neck. ‘Yeah. Extra scampi.’

They sit side by side as they wait, texting again. Now that Silver has a measure of how Flint speaks and how he writes, switching between the two isn’t so strange. When the order is ready, Silver carries the hot bundle of paper to the wharf, and they find a spot on the edge. Silver sits carefully, and Flint positions himself with the sun to his back, angled toward Silver’s face. They demolish the chips—Flint outright _groans_ at the first one, and Silver remembers the bliss of rediscovering proper chips after years in America. They occasionally take mercy on the gulls begging for scraps, until there’s nothing but greasy paper scrunched behind them and Flint shuffles to sit beside Silver.

As the sun sets, Flint presses closer to him. Keeping his face tilted for Flint to see thrusts an unexpected intimacy on them. Silver has to remind himself Flint is watching his lips to read them.

Well, maybe not just to read them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to my Brit-picker for bringing on chip cravings with this.


	9. Chapter 9

Then it’s Wednesday, and Silver finds he really can’t hold a conversation with Flint while making his coffee, but he draws an _X_ under Flint’s name on the cup. By Friday it’s _XXX_ and an eggplant. Flint grins at it, reaches behind Silver’s head for the marker and grabbing Silver’s hand. He draws a quick _X_ at the base of Silver’s thumb and Silver spends all day trying not to wash it off. Eleanor tells him to stop being so fucking useless.

On their second date, Flint takes him to the park on a Saturday morning. They demolish a bag of pastries at a bench and Flint starts to teach him signs in ASL. Silver masters _how are you_ ; _good_ and _bad_ ; _yes_ and _no_ ; _me_ and _you_ ; _please_ and _thank you_ ; _but_ and _very_ ; _why_ and _because_. Flint doesn’t teach him _sorry_ , but he does teach him _beautiful_. And _coffee_. It’s easier than he anticipated, especially when he’s got enough to form a basic sentence. He has to adjust to mouthing the words as he says them: Flint never teaches him a sign without an expression to go with it. At first Silver keeps mirroring Flint’s gestures, and Flint has to remind him:

‘Right hand; _your_ right hand. Your _other_ right hand.’

But when Silver gets it wrong, Flint holds his wrist, and shapes his fingers into the correct formations, and Silver finds he has very little incentive to correct himself.

Silver thinks he’s getting good, or at least good at making Flint smile. Good enough for a kiss, and then he has to learn how to ask for another. This time, Flint shows him, tongue slipping into Silver’s mouth, a hand finding its way to Silver’s waist. Silver moans into the kiss, his touch moving from Flint’s shirt to his face, pulling him closer. When he touches Flint’s hair there’s a sudden screeching sound, making Silver jump. Flint cringes, shifting back.

‘Microphones in hearing aids,’ he explains. ‘They do that if something’s too close.’

‘Would it be easier… do you want to take them off?’ Silver offers. He bites his lip, unsure if he’s overstepping.

Flint’s watching his lips, and this time, not to read them. This look is dark, and heavy-lidded, and so hungry that Silver can’t believe he ever mistook it. Flint agrees with a husky ‘ _Yeah,_ ’ bowing his head for a moment as he slides the box from his pocket and removes them in a fluid gesture.

_Good?_ Silver signs. Flint exhales, and an ounce of tension Silver hadn’t noticed before melts from Flint’s shoulders. _Yes_ , he answers.

Then Silver can run his fingers through Flint’s hair, pulling him back for a proper kiss. He ends up holding the back of Flint’s neck in one hand, pressing into the muscle until Flint relaxes, drawing him closer. Silver’s other hand traces the sharp line Flint’s jaw, finding a fluttering pulse at his throat, then trailing down to end up in the vee of Flint’s shirt where a glimpse of chest hair has been driving Silver mad all morning.

That beard is going to leave Silver's skin grazed just as red. Flint’s breath is hot on his face, mouth swift and sure against Silver’s. Silver’s lips are tingling by the time Flint brushes over them with a hint of teeth.

Silver shivers, and Flint nips him, dragging Silver’s lower lip between his teeth and sucking for just a moment. Groaning, Silver has to sternly remind himself they’re in public. Not somewhere he can peel Flint right out of his skinny jeans.

When they draw away, both a little breathless, Flint keeps his forehead pressed to Silver’s. Silver closes his eyes and licks his lips. He’d swear he can taste butterscotch.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok two anecdotes I have to add: I got my first butterscotch latte in a while and I didn’t get charged for the syrup because I was ‘already so sweet.’ It’s like my darkest thoughts somehow had the ability to manifest themselves upon our reality.
> 
> And: I got a bottom friend to sensitivity read this chapter.
> 
> [Emoji-texting version here.](http://r0b0tb0y.tumblr.com/post/178778530692/roasted-10-the-emoji-draft)

Silver signs at Flint when he comes in in the mornings and Flint lights up. The conversations are basic, but Flint will drop him a new word if he sees Silver getting stuck. By Thursday Silver’s saying _hello beautiful, can I make your favourite coffee_?

Silver’s grammar is dreadful, but enthusiastic. He attempts to say _triple shot_ , but not knowing _shot_ , he tries finger guns. Flint laughs out loud.

Later, Silver texts him.

_does it make it harder, being queer as well?_

Flint replies fast. _Only if you try to put a dick in my ear._

 _oh my god,_ Silver types, and says out loud. _i mean guys can be fucking wankers about disabilities_

He doesn’t say he knows from experience. He really should mention it—he should _have_ mentioned it, or maybe Flint’s already noticed—but Flint writes back:

_You’d be amazed how many Deaf people are queer._

_really? is that a thing?_

_Don't know. There’s just a lot of us._

_so do you normally date Deaf guys?_

_Sometimes. It’s still a small scene locally._

_so you’ve dated both of them_

_They’re dating each other._

_ooh, drama_. He can tell Flint’s eyes are rolling. _ok so I have something important to ask you about that_

Flint sends back: _?_

_top or bottom?_

He’s always hated the kind of guys that ask that upfront. But it is, unfortunately, a technical question.

 _Are you kidding_ , Flint replies. Now his eyes are definitely rolling.

_does that mean it should be obvious?_

_It means I’m a grown adult so either is good. But I like bottoming._

‘Fuck,’ Silver says, out loud. Then he continues:

 _ok so_ , he takes a heavy breath in, then out. _what I said about guys being fucking wankers about disabilities_

Flint texts: _BEING A BOTTOM IS NOT A FUCKING DISABILITY_

_i’m still typing!_

Flint’s reply appears: _Ok sorry._

 _i sort of have one._ He follows: _so don’t be a wanker_

There’s a long pause. _I won’t._

Silver types. He deletes it and he types again. He thought it would be easier telling someone who’s disabled. Not having to explain it face-to-face. But it always fucking sucks.

_i have a prosthetic leg_

Flint is typing, then he isn’t, then he is, then he isn’t.

 _it’s ok if that’s an issue for_ you, Silver writes, gritting his teeth through the lie. It’s not ok, but it’s what you say. _i can just be your Hearing friend_

 _Hey. It’s not an issue._ Flint continues: _I won’t say “of course” because I know you can’t assume. But it’s really not an issue for me._

 _it sort of is._ Flint is typing again, so Silver hurries. _it can be tricky for me to top._

_Well that explains the fucking bizarre segue,_ _thank_ _you._

_so now that’s cleared_ up, Silver smiles again. _do you want to ride me_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You would in fact be amazed how many Deaf/deaf people are queer. None of us know why.
> 
> The ASL grammar in this fic is all written in the English equivalent, because I’m Australian and don’t know the first thing about ASL grammar (or Auslan grammar if we’re being honest).


	11. Chapter 11

From that question, they do actually make a date of it: a Friday night at Flint’s place, with Silver bringing dinner. Flint warns him: _I have a townhouse, two flights of stairs_ and Silver tells him _no problem_ , but then thanks him for checking.

Dinner is delicious. Silver doesn’t even remember what he brought. Because after dinner, Flint is taking him upstairs, and kissing him at the top landing, and has him pinned to the wall. His tongue is halfway down Silver’s throat and his thumb rubs the groove of Silver’s hip and Silver really is going to fall over if they don’t get to the bedroom soon. He wants to touch Flint’s hair, and his neck, and his face, but Flint wore hearing aids for his benefit. He rests his head against the wall, withdrawing from the kiss so Flint can see his face.

‘You’re taking those off, right?’ his forefinger traces the tendon in Flint’s neck, toward his earlobe.

‘Soon,’ Flint nods. ‘I hope you like leaving the lights on.’

Silver grins, nodding. Then he hesitates.

‘I don’t… know how to say faster, or harder, or any of that.’

Flint chuckles, leading him to the bedroom. He flicks a switch, bathing the room in a warm light. ‘Well that probably tells me a lot of what I need to know. But if you’re concerned, especially about your leg, I can leave the hearing aids in.’

‘No, you don’t need to,’ Silver assures him. ‘I mean, I can… slap your leg, if you’re jostling me too hard. Or tap it, I mean.’

‘You can slap it,’ Flint assures him.

‘Oh,’ Silver says. _Oh_.

‘It’s mostly, well, I talk a _lot_ ,’ Silver continues.

‘I _have_ noticed,’ Flint replies drily.

‘I feel like I’m going to distract myself thinking about not talking?’ he attempts to explain.

‘People do manage to do this gagged, you know,’ Flint says, his voice somehow finding a lower register.

‘Oh,’ Silver says. _Oh._

He grabs Flint’s shirt with both hands.

‘I want you to gag me.’

Flint’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘Really?’

‘You’re right,’ Silver insists. ‘Take it out of my hands. It’s a fantastic idea.’

Flint takes a step back. His eyes travel over Silver, and Silver feels himself flush. It’s beginning to become obvious just how much he likes the idea.

‘In that case,’ Flint pulls him close again. ‘Let me kiss you while I can.’

Silver melts into it, half his weight on Flint. His thigh slides between Flint’s hips and he growls when he realises Flint’s cock is swelling too. He’s still pulling on Flint’s shirt, and Flint lets him tug it over his head. He’s dusted with more of the ginger hair that had enticed Silver before, and absolutely smothered in freckles. Silver wants to _eat_ them.

He quickly removes his own shirt, and then Flint is kissing him again, walking him back toward the bed.

‘Get yourself comfortable,’ Flint instructs him. ‘Whatever works for you.’

While Flint goes to the bureau against the wall, Silver strips off his jeans, socks, and underwear. Then sits on the bed, removing the leg. He realises Flint has granted him a moment of privacy by rummaging in the drawer, but Silver shuffles over to tap Flint’s arm. He gestures for permission to leave the leg on this side of the bed, and Flint signs _yes_. So then he’s naked, on Flint’s bed, trying not to feel self-conscious. Flint places condoms, lube, and a scarf on the bedside table, and finishes undressing.

That distracts Silver from himself. God, those freckles are _everywhere_. Flint looks him over, glancing long enough at Silver’s leg that he’s not avoiding it, but not making it weird, either. He’s much more interested in Silver’s abs, apparently. That’s where his mouth starts as he crawls on top of Silver. He works his way up, kissing and laving until he reaches Silver’s nipple and sucks it into his mouth. Silver groans, hand clamping around the back of Flint’s neck to encourage him. Flint bites gently and Silver wriggles, overstimulated, nudging Flint toward the other nipple. Flint obeys, but is soon distracted by Silver’s collarbone, where he sucks so thoroughly Silver is worried it will bruise. By then Silver is hungry for a kiss, so he finally drags Flint up for one, and Flint’s hands card through Silver’s hair, untying the bun it’s been in all day.

Flint grins against his mouth, and breaks the kiss.

He holds up a marker pen: the one Silver had left securing his bun, like an idiot. Through the entire dinner date. Into bed.

‘It’s right here,’ Flint places the marker on the blanket next to Silver, his eyes dancing. ‘Tap me if you need it.’

Flint shifts his weight on top of Silver, reaching for the box on the bedside. The view as he twists is amazing.

Flint flicks his nose, and Silver realises Flint’s taken off his hearing aids while Silver was distracted by his waist.

 _Alright_? he signs.

 _Yes_ , Silver assures him. _I’m good_.

Silver pulls him down and kisses him, cradling Flint’s face and raking through his hair as much as he likes. Flint is straddling his hips, rocking in a motion that has his cock sliding against Silver’s, trapped between their bodies. That gets Silver writhing and panting, searching for more friction under the grip of Flint’s thighs.

Silver almost says ‘please,’ and catches himself. He reaches around and finds the scarf. It’s one Flint has worn in the shop before, and Silver thrills realising he’s going to be reminded of tonight if Flint wears it again. Flint pulls the fabric into a line, and Silver leans up to catch it between his teeth. Flint bundles Silver’s hair up, taking his time with the handfuls of curls—Silver grins around the scarf—to knot the gag just behind Silver’s ear. He cradles Silver’s head before letting it drop on the pillow, his fingers following the slight indentation of the scarf in Silver’s cheek. He traces Silver’s lip, and the cloth between is already dampening.

 _How are you_? Flint asks.

Silver almost slaps his own hand with how emphatically he signs _good_. Flint smiles, and Silver makes a frantic circle with his palm: _please_.

Flint nods, settling himself on Silver’s hips. His eyes never leave Silver’s as he reaches down and strokes Silver’s cock. Silver wails around the scarf as Flint coaxes him into aching hardness. He ruts desperately while Flint works him slow and firm. The way Flint looks at him, gaze drifting over his body, leaves a wave of heat in its wake. Silver growls, twitching.

Flint guesses what he needs, smirking at him. He makes a tight circle with forefinger and thumb at the base of Silver’s cock. They wait a heartbeat, until Silver is back from the edge. Then Flint is arching over Silver again, returning with the bottle of lube. Silver offers up his left hand to be slicked, and Flint twines their fingers together as he does. The twisting pull of Flint’s fingertips around each of Silver’s knuckles is a tantalising promise.

A quirk of Flint’s eyebrows is the invitation.

Silver can’t resist stroking Flint’s cock first, delighting at how Flint responds to the slippery touch. He can tease too: just as Flint starts to thrust into his grip, he slides down behind Flint’s balls. Flint lifts easily, invitingly, and Silver carefully traces over his hole, his other hand coming up to steady Flint’s hip, before pressing in. Silver gets easily to the first knuckle, and Flint sinks down like all the air has been punched out of him. Silver explores the clenching heat of him, sighing with satisfaction when he finds the right angle and crooks his finger. Flint curls so fast he risks crushing Silver’s wrist. Silver eases off a margin, sliding in and almost out, hardly tickling each time he finds that place again.

Flint’s reaction is gorgeous. He’s so hard he’s leaking, pivoting on Silver’s touch. Silver is captivated by Flint’s cock, curious if he can make it drip with another crooking motion.

Flint gives him a rather sharp tap on the side. He mouths _three_ , along with the sign.

Silver gives him a wide-eyed, butter-wouldn’t-melt look. With his free hand he asks: _three?_

Flint thumps him a little harder for being a shit, teeth bared around an insistent: _three!_

Silver makes a production of easing one finger out, petting the sensitised skin at the cleft of Flint’s arse, caressing the rim, working just his fingertips in, and finally, when Flint looks ready to strangle him, shoving all three in at once. Flint shudders, his head tipping back. He takes it so eagerly, and easily. He’s so pliant, rolling languorously on top of Silver, and Silver could enjoy the view of this all night. He could reach inside Flint and pluck the pleasure right out of him.

Flint’s weight shifts forward and he meets Silver’s eyes again. He’s a little glazed, pupils blown out, blinking slowly. He moves in shorter bursts as he crouches over Silver, placing an oddly sweet kiss on Silver’s forehead. Silver nuzzles him, in lieu of a kiss back. Flint pulls himself upright again, and this time he’s got the condom in his hand. He tears the packet open with his teeth, and Silver’s cock twitches at the sight.

Silver has to withdraw his fingers to allow Flint to shuffle back and straddle his thighs. Flint huffs out a breath at the absence. He rolls the condom onto Silver’s cock and follows with a generous quantity of lube, pumping Silver until Silver is moaning and trembling, the scarf in his mouth getting damp.

Flint slows, then removes his hands. Silver thumps his head against the pillow in frustration, and Flint gently taps him on the chest.

 _Yes?_ he asks.

_Yes._

Flint splays one hand on Silver’s chest, inching himself slowly down on Silver until he’s sheathed. Silver doesn’t breathe the whole time, he’s so distracted by the tight warmth engulfing him. Flint starts to move, the hand on Silver’s chest digging into the flesh. The sting makes him gasp, his head swimming as Flint carves out a rhythm. Silver rocks his hips, and he can feel the tremors it stirs in Flint. From above him, Flint is controlling the pace, and the angle, and Silver adores watching how he takes his pleasure from it. He moves himself just enough to drive Flint a little harder, a little deeper, dragging a guttural moan from Flint when he gets it right.

He wraps his hands around Flint’s thighs, squeezing the taut muscle that shifts under his grip. Flint rises, keeping himself suspended for a moment, before Silver tugs him down and they crash back together, both of them dazed by it. Silver pulls him again, and again, until Flint’s hips are pounding down to meet him and Silver’s moans are turning into yells, trapped by the scarf.

Flint is getting slippery with sweat, and Silver reaches to wrap around his cock, jerking in time with Flint’s surging. Flint almost loses their rhythm, riding Silver as Silver strokes and twists and tugs. His hips land roughly on Silver’s, muscle clamping hard around Silver’s cock. Silver shouts wordlessly, his voice cracking as he does. Flint reaches for him, fingers tracing gently over his throat. Silver moans again and Flint’s fingers press his neck encouragingly—he can feel the vibration of it, Silver realises. He bites down on the scarf, growling and leaning into Flint’s touch, fucking Flint for all he’s worth.

Flint is tense above him, thrusting short and fervent into Silver’s fist. He’s watching Silver’s throat bobbing as he swallows, his chest heaving as he gasps, and meeting his gaze with an expression of raw need. The hand not cradling Silver’s neck makes the signs: _Please, can I—_

Silver nods, stroking Flint’s cock faster. Flint shivers, bent over Silver, his thighs squeezing Silver’s sides. Flint comes with a quiet, desperate breath, making a mess of Silver’s hand and belly. Silver’s cock throbs from the feeling of it, and Flint keeps rippling through aftershocks, still riding Silver. His hips move in quick circles, the oscillation bringing Silver to hit Flint’s prostate. Flint to shudders deeper each time, wracked with it, and Silver is almost thrashing with the pressure Flint keeps on him. His voice is a hoarse yell beneath the scarf, shattering as he comes inside Flint. Flint is somehow _still_ moving, seeming intent to milk Silver dry, and Silver feels tears prick the corner of his eyes before he taps Flint’s leg pleadingly, and Flint finally slows to a halt.

Pleasure buzzes through Silver, and he’s sprawled there, dazed, while Flint carefully unties the scarf and touches the faint lines left on Silver’s cheek.

Flint gingerly lifts himself from Silver’s lap and Silver lets out an ‘oof,’ squirming and hypersensitive.

 _You’re alright?_ Flint checks.

 _I’m good. Really good_ , Silver answers. _And you?_

 _Perfect_ , Flint tells him. Silver gleans the new word from context, aware he’s probably too fucked-out to remember it tomorrow.

Flint removes the condom, and momentarily vanishes—to Silver’s irrationally overblown disappointment—into the bathroom. He returns with a wet cloth, and carefully dabs Silver clean. Silver is pawing at him, wanting nothing more than Flint in his arms and a good night’s sleep. Flint chuckles, holding up a finger to say _wait_. He tidies the scarf and the marker to the bedside table, and goes to switch off the light.

Then there are warm limbs and silent kisses wrapped around Silver, and the smell of sex is still rich between them as they burrow under the blankets. Silver takes Flint’s hand, brushing his lips over Flint’s fingertips. Flint traces the shape of his mouth, then tucks a stray curl out of Silver’s face. Sleep pulls them under like a rising tide.

Silver awakens to dawn streaming in the high window, tangled in layers of blankets. He blinks, still bleary, and gets his bearings. Flint’s room; prosthetic on the right side of the bed; no Flint but the sheets rumpled where he was; and a notepad on the bedside table. Beside it is Silver’s marker pen, which Flint has used to write him a message:

_Good morning_

_I’m in the kitchen x_

Silver stretches, taking advantage of Flint’s generous bed for himself. He rolls languidly to the edge of it, gets underwear, a flannel shirt, and his leg on. He tucks the notepad in the shirt pocket and the marker behind his ear, and makes his way downstairs.

Flint is at the kitchen counter, as promised. He catches Silver in his peripheral vision and gives him a wave. He’s buck naked, and the sunshine pouring into the kitchen lights up a halo of ginger peach-fuzz all over him. Silver can’t resist coming up behind Flint, resting a hand on each of his hips, and placing a kiss on the back of his neck. Flint leans into it, flashing a quick sign over his shoulder. Silver sleepily thinks it’s devil-horns, then notices the thumb sticks out.

Then he sees the professional-standard dual-boiler espresso machine with a naked portafilter on Flint’s counter. He steps to Flint’s side while Flint gets his three shots brewing and starts steaming a jug of nonfat milk. It really does make an unbearable noise, Silver realises. When Flint looks up, he’s not trying to contain his amusement at Silver’s ridiculous indignation.

 _You can make coffee at home?!_ Silver asks him.

Flint grins, pouring a perfectly-formed leaf pattern into his latte.

 _Yes,_ he answers. _But you were so beautiful._

Silver suspects Flint is blushing, hiding his face behind the mug as he takes the first sip. He comes away with a white moustache of foam, and Silver has to kiss it off him.

When Silver finally stops for breath, Flint asks: _How do you like yours?_

He plucks the marker from Silver’s hair, and Silver takes out the notebook.

 _Just espresso,_ Silver writes. Flint reads it and laughs. _If it’s a good roast._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the lovely comments on this little fic!
> 
> Follow the series for seasonal sequels :)


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